


Dust From A Distant Sun

by Clarice Chiara Sorcha (claricechiarasorcha)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M, Saucy Cadet Photographs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 20:36:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11066640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claricechiarasorcha/pseuds/Clarice%20Chiara%20Sorcha
Summary: Years ago, Ben Solo came to know the Cadet.These days, Kylo Ren only knows the General....but he should also know that things do have a way of changing, with time.





	Dust From A Distant Sun

**Author's Note:**

> I've been a bit out of the loop the last couple of weeks, with a brain that still don't work right. But I abruptly decided I needed some kylux smut, and I'm still _haunted_ by Pin Up Cadet Huxxx, goddammit. We can blame this particular configuration on @justghostly, who had [a picture](https://justghostly.tumblr.com/post/159905870964/later-ben-solo-discovered-general-huxxx-didnt) a few weeks back that just had me in hysterics because DAMMIT the thought of Ben Solo collecting Cadet Huxx propaganda _would not leave me alone_. To that end, there's a brief sort of mention of what might be underage, because we all _know_ what Ben was doing with said pictures, but it's brief and not detailed; I figured I'd go with a heads-up either way.
> 
> But yeah. If you're there, and you're reading: thank you, from the very bottom of my black little heart. Finding something to _do_ with my brain these days is a tricky thing, and being that I'm also fairly shy and also completely lacking in self-confidence, it's tricky for me to start or maintain conversations. And so it really is everything to me, when people take the time to try and draw me out. If you read, if you comment, if you kudos -- thank you for being there. So, so much.  <3
> 
> Also, the odd little title comes from the song _Distant Sun_ , because [I love that damn song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=udnQjcMMSxI) and I happened to be listening to it when I was trying to work out how this fic would work. Dammit, Neil.

Ren could not remember the last time he had seen Hux in natural light. The surface of Starkiller hardly counted for much, considering that Hux rarely ventured far from the confines of the base even when on-planet. His precious simulations told him much of what he wanted to know. On the rare occasion Hux wanted to get his own hands dirty, gloved as they always remained, he would simply shove them deep into her mechanical guts – and that, he almost always did within the boundaries of the buildings themselves.

It therefore felt strange indeed, in this mild climate, to see Hux revealed this way. Naturally he remained in full dress uniform, from the cap to greatcoat to high shining boots, standing straight-backed and flint-eyed upon his borrowed stage – but, away from the harsh false lighting of the _Finalizer_ , the cold white light of Starkiller’s perpetual winter, something about him had changed. It gave real colour to his skin, and a new turn to the kaleidoscope that was his eyes. They always shifted somewhere between blue and green and grey, never quite one or the other. In truth, Ren could not be entirely sure he had ever seen the exact colour even twice.

And there certainly had been time, enough, for something of that sort. In the last three years Ren had come to know this man as the general; everything around him only solidified the idea, and its ideal. Hux was nothing but his co-commander, the ranking officer aboard the starship and upon Starkiller’s surface. Ren had become accustomed to that. It only made sense, given anything else Ren had known of Hux beforehand now belonged to another.

And that _other_ was long since dead.

But the fact he thought of it, then, meant he could not be entirely surprised when the woman approached. From his distance, Ren watched, expression turned thoughtful behind the mask. Ren did not stand overly close to Hux’s current position; he had not been part of the crowd before the platform, now mostly dispersed, nor had he been one of the flanking officers whom Hux so often arrayed about himelf during his speeches. They saw it as an honour. Hux merely utilised them as props. Desiring neither status, Ren had only watched the speech from his shadows, wondering what had compelled him to come here today and observe the rally.

And now he knew. Vague previous experience reminded him that Hux always allowed a chosen few to come to him, after his speeches; Ren could only assume those fortunate individuals were selected beforehand, and by stringent criteria. It was all part of his precious show. But neither Hux nor the woman now approaching would likely have the slightest idea how encompassing the stage they stood upon truly was.

This particular woman wore a uniform as carefully maintained as Hux’s own, the rank-bars of a lieutenant upon one sleeve. She would be stationed upon this backwater world, at one of its two academies – one for officers, the other for ‘troopers. They had been part of, if not most of, the reason for Hux’s current presence. But her pleasure seemed to come from someplace deeper, colour burning high in her cheeks, platinum hair drawn tight back beneath her perfectly-aligned cap. A sheet of flimsi trembled deliciously in her hands.

Even at such distance, Ren knew what it was.

An easy conversation passed between the two, though he did not listen to that. His eyes instead remained fixed upon the flimsi, for all he could not clearly see it in anything but bright memory. She proffered Hux a marker, the gesture almost shy; he took it with a practised hand, scrawling across it in quick tight strokes. For the first time, Ren realised he did not know what Hux’s handwriting actually looked like. He’d only ever seen the general’s written words in technological font.

Something low in his abdomen stirred, a beast disturbed from a death that had turned out only to be long hibernation. A smile half-curved Hux’s lips; though it did not reach his eyes, it had an appeal of its own. Hux could be charming enough, when he so wished to be. Ren rarely enough saw anything of the sort. This, too, was not meant for him. He was only watching, skin crawling beneath the heavy fabrics of his robes, breath coming just a little too quick behind the vocoder.

There were others, after the lieutenant. Intellectually, Ren knew why Hux did this, could even admire him for it. That little personal touch was enough to keep the ranks interested on a more personal level, to seek out their devotion by letting them feel as though they had been recognised as an individual. Ren knew something of it. Or at least, he had known the mind of someone who _had_. Of someone else who had seen that red hair, that flawless white skin, the tease of those peculiar shifting eyes – and, then, had _wanted_.

He did not even feel his approach, his mind somewhere else entire until the voice called him back to his own body.

“Well, what is it, Ren?”

From behind the mask Ren stared. Most other officers would have wilted before the cold blankness of black and silver, but Hux did not. From the very beginning, he’d accepted it for what he saw it as: mere theatricality, the needed spectacle of those who were called to strange greatness.

“Ren?”

“I wouldn’t have thought she was your type.”

The frown came first, light and thoughtful. It cleared somewhat as he realised what Ren had meant, though something of it remained wary still. “I don’t dally with those of lesser rank, so. No. She most assuredly is not.”

“Then who do you dally with?”

Watchful himself, now, Hux took a long slow moment before making his reply. “Ren.” There was warning in there too, somewhere. “Is this a conversation we need to be having?”

“No.” He gave the lie even enough, turning away. “I suppose not, then.”

Even without the Force he might have sensed it – Hux’s mind turning to odd and unusual uncertainty, shot through with the sharp desire to call him back, to make him _speak_. But the man would not do so, not now. And in turn Ren did not once glance behind.

But his mind would not leave it alone. His return to the _Finalizer_ was solitary; she would remain in orbit some time yet, as the general still had duties to discharge upon the surface. More mingling, more meddling. By contrast, Ren had not been required to attend even the speech itself. It had been the first, in fact, he had come to in some time. As a rule he tended to find a way to be ever elsewhere. Yet this time he’d had no particular mission from Snoke to attend to, and he had not even thought of something better himself.

There was something of the inevitable about it. In his own quarters, he moved to a storage locker rarely opened. The small box, taken from the back of the highest shelf, held nothing but datachips: old, yet not entirely obsolete. With his mask cast aside, hands and feet bare, Ren withdrew the holoprojector from its slot within the wall. As if in some trance he slid a chip in, dimmed the lights, and let the far wall brighten.

The collection of holos had been started years ago. By another person. In another life. That much was true of the both of them, perhaps. Hux himself couldn’t have been much older than his late teens in the image now shimmering upon the alusteel wall, though something in his eyes made it hard to say for sure. The long expanses of white skin, unmarred and smooth, said much for his supposed innocence; the startling hair only amplified the long lean lines of his youth. But Ben Solo, for all he had been conceived in victory and in peace, for all the Empire had already been falling all to ashes around the worlds of his birth – even as a mere child, he had known what it was to age beyond the proper scope of years. To be something far older than what mere time might have permitted alone.

The Cadet, they had called him. And though there were always others of his age and rank amongst the reams of confiscated propaganda that had passed over Leia Organa’s desk, there had always been just _one_ Cadet. It was hard to know, from such distance, how it had even begun. But his popularity had somehow assured itself, and there he was: scantily-clad and sensuous, this young man with fire in his eyes and his body half-bared. _Join the Order_ , he murmured, lips curved about the words as if he were set to swallow them whole. _We have everything you might ever desire_.

Though his mother had quickly lost interest in such holos, Ben Solo had not. Sitting here now Ren could remember far too clearly that first night: lying in his borrowed bed at his mother’s latest residence, eyes fixed on the ceiling, hands fisted in the sheets, groin aching and tight. His recall had always been too good. With the propo-holo all but branded upon his mind, Ben Solo could remember every inch of _him_ – from the high shining heels to the curve of his calves to the slender thighs to the rise of his ass, dignity but barely contained by the brief coverage of his shorts.

Even in his own inexperience, Ben had known enough to realise the elder boy wore nothing beneath them. And then, the long curve of his spine beckoned him like a crooked finger, disappearing beneath the cut of his tight little vest; Ben had wanted nothing so much as to trace the dip and shape of it with his fingers, and with his tongue. The Cadet himself merely looked back over one coy shoulder, gaze nothing if not teasing and true.

And that had been it. That had been the end of everything. Uncle Luke had always said that his teachings had been about control – that for all the value of emotion, for all the frank power that it had, it might consume one utterly if left to satisfy its own hunger. The sadness of him, most potent in those blue blue eyes, had assured Ben that this was a man who had known the truth of such wisdom.

But Ben Solo had not been able to push this sudden new emotion away. With hand fisted around his cock, he had closed his eyes, and seen nothing but the knowing sly gaze of an enemy’s propaganda. _Everything_ , he had whispered, _you might ever desire._

After, as he stared at the mess in his hand with trousers kicked down around his ankles, he had known something like shame. The Voice in his mind – that low and thoughtful hum that had followed him since childhood – never spoke of these moments, and yet he felt something else from it. Satisfaction, perhaps. The Voice had always told him to chase after that which he wanted most.

Yet it was always the remembered invitation of the Cadet’s blue-green gaze that called him back to such visions. The Voice spoke of power; the Cadet spoke of desire. And Ben had given over to his imagination several further times before he had sought out the original holo itself. The collection had followed. And then, when Snoke had summoned him before him, years later—

_Ah, my apprentice – I have someone you might like to meet, perhaps._

Kylo Ren, lying here now, stared only forward. He did not recall pushing his trousers away, but his cock now lay hard and heavy in his hand. The Cadet stretched and preened before him. Lazy in his posture in a way the general might never be, he was dressed only in the greatcoat of a higher rank, lips pursed around a contraband cigarra. _Set the worlds afire_ , he whispered. _Burn away chaos, and bring Order to the galaxy_.

Ren had never met the Cadet. But then, perhaps it was only fair – it had not been Ben Solo who had come before the General, three years ago. Still, as his hand worked, harder and faster, he permitted himself a bitter smile. He’d thought he’d forgotten. He thought he’d let it die.

Instead, memory moved like wildfire, burning through his veins. Ren closed his eyes, and gave over to it – as if some dead star had reignited itself within his strange tight heart. He let it burn, now.

And yet, it consumed nothing.

 

*****

 

It was not long before Hux was called to give another of his speeches. The season of propaganda and parade had arrived; apparently Starkiller’s fabrication had reached such a juncture that the general felt he could leave her to his engineers for prolonged periods of time. Ren followed, their destination some strange small world that was all heat and light – save for where the thick jungle grew so tight and so dense that nothing might be seen moving within its greatest depths.

The speech again followed much the same formula. Afterwards, Ren observed three of them this time: all with their little flimsis, adoring gazes fixed upon the straight-laced general standing before them. They were little more than mere blips amongst the others who came to him in the aftermath of his oratory; just a reminder, to Hux, of what power he held over their minds, and their desires.

But to Ren, standing apart from the performance of it all, they meant something much more. Allowing the tide of it to ease, he waited before he made his first move – though in truth, a man such as Hux would never stand truly alone. But when he at last chose to stalk close, the lesser of them scattered without a word; Hux dismissed what remained with a disdainful hand, eyes fixed upon Ren alone.

“I will be with you shortly,” he said. But he never once looked from Ren even as he spoke to the still-hovering lieutenant who acted as his aide-de-camp. Already he had begun to move away from where he had held his strange court; only when they had some distance did Hux speak again, the illusion of privacy but strange and fragile in this hive of Order activity.

“Do you not have missions of your own to be attending to?”

The clipped quick tone had Ren raising a lazy eyebrow, for all Hux would not see it behind the mask – but then, neither would he know the sharp jump in his pulse, either. “I thought you would have appreciated my interest in your propaganda,” he said instead, boredom easy to fake with the vocoder between them. Hux only scowled, eyes narrow and sceptical.

“I might, if I thought you were even awake behind that thing.”

“Stimulate me, and I might consider it.”

With a sharp snort, Hux half-turned, eyes back upon the way they had come. “Strangely enough, Ren, it’s not actually my responsibility to keep you functional and effective.” He poised himself as to step away, to leave him behind. “Now, I do have other matters to attend to.”

“There is something I want from you.”

He paused, but did not look back. “Surely my budget won’t withstand another tantrum.”

“I have something for you to sign.”

That had him turning, an eyebrow raised high. “Hardly your job to run about after such formalities, I would have thought?”

The leading tone had a caressing edge, like a knifeblade pressed against bare skin. A faint flush rose behind the mask, leaving Ren glad for its presence even as he wished there to be nothing between them but naked air.

“There is no-one else who might sign such a document.”

“Oh, well, when you put it that way,” he said, patience as fleeting and false as that of any career politician. Ren extended the flimsi towards him, between them. His eyes shifted down. Then the lean body turned to utter stillness.

Into that silence Ren spoke, slow, soft. “Is it not to your liking, then?”

It took him a moment too long to speak – and even when he glanced up, his own habitual mask had not quite ordered his features to perfect calm. “I did not say that,” Hux said, and paused again. When he spoke, the words were as careful as a ‘trooper’s step through a minefield. “Perhaps I did not realise it was to yours.”

“I am a man of varied tastes.”

And he snorted, the very edge of it just ragged enough. “As though one could ever tell you _were_ a man, behind all that.” With lips pursed, he looked down, again. He had not once moved to take the flimsi into his own gloved hands. When he looked up again, his jaw had grown tight, eyes darkly cool. “You truly wish me to sign this?”

“Yes.”

Ren had not even brought a marker. “All right,” Hux said, voice grown brusque, hands shifting to parade rest at the small of his back. “All right. We can play this game.” But his head tilted, bright hair masked beneath his cap. “But only if you will do something for me in turn.”

His breath had quickened, damp behind the vocoder. “What?”

“Take off that mask.” His lip curled, something more malicious than mere mischief sparking deep in his eyes. “And that is only the opening pleasantry. I haven’t asked for what I really want.”

The command twisted in his groin, even as he knew he could not obey. “Not here.”

Ren had witnessed officers castigated to tears for far less. Hux now only pursed his lips, something like curiosity narrowing his gaze. “Then where?”

“Your rooms.” The light scorn didn’t quite leave his words when he added, “They did invite you to stay the evening, did they not?”

“But not you.”

From the beginning, there had always been such games between them. For the first time, Ren wondered if that had not been Snoke’s true purpose all along. “I did not require their invitation.”

Hux gave a mirthless chuckle. “I am expected to dinner.”

“Then you shouldn’t dawdle.”

Without waiting further, Ren turned to stride away, not once looking back. Even before he had landed on this planet, he had known where they would grant the general his lodgings: high in the hulking building, so he might move like a king about his castle. He also did not check to see if Hux followed. Long association told him that the general would never let it appear as though he took orders from Kylo Ren. They shared no actual command structure, only this peculiar kind of command.

For all the lauded security of Hux’s hosts, it was but a moment’s thought to push open the door to his borrowed quarters. Stepping inside, Ren found it to be a surprisingly lovely space, bathed as it was in the late light of day. The curving great windows dominated the main sitting room, with very little furniture or décor set about its interior. Though it seemed traditional rather than purposeful, Ren knew it would suit Hux’s tastes, minimalist as the man tended to be.

A click of his tongue was the only herald of Hux’s own arrival, though disapproval radiated like nova fire as he stepped across the threshold. Only after the door swept closed in his wake did Ren turn to face him. Hux, with hands folded yet at the small of his back, gazed at him, still and steady. He was almost entirely covered – and as if plucking the thought from his mind, Hux’s eyes moved sharp over his own armoured frame, coming to eventual rest upon his unseen face.

“The mask, Ren.”

It would be the last moment to turn back. But Ren already knew he did not want to. And yet, the contemplative look sat heavy upon him, unused to such scrutiny as he had become. Ren had known him for almost three years – but while it was not the first time Hux had seen him thus unmasked, his regard had never been so open. Watchful, thoughtful, Hux held his silence for what seemed just a moment too long.

And then, he shook his head. “So,” he said, nodding to Ren’s hands even though he had long since secreted the flimsi back within his robes, “you found a little piece of Order history, did you?” His lip curled, only at one corner, his gaze sharpened and seeking. “Surely you must have realised there’s precious little blackmail potential in it, given it’s no secret.”

Ren met his gaze, still and simple. “I’ve known about it for a long time.” He paused, said flatly, “Since long before we met.”

“I see.” And perhaps he did, and further than Ren might even have wished. “Then why now?” he asked, and Ren felt irritation prickle along his skin like electric current.

“Because I want it now.”

He snorted; the general had been privy to one too many of Ren’s sudden traumatic demands to be moved in such a way. “And if I don’t feel the same?”

With arms folded across his chest, he could mask the faint tremor of the heart beneath. “Then you would never have invited me back here.”

He turned then, towards the small bar; when he stepped towards it, he did so careful and quick. “Perhaps I’ve changed my mind,” Hux called back, perfectly indolent. Ren, for his own part, did not move.

“Well,” he said, voice the low rumble of nearing brontide. “You wouldn’t want to be late to dinner, would you?”

“But I do have to make myself ready.” With a capped bottle in hand, he used the long neck to point out his demand. “Go, sit on the balcony a moment. I’ll be with you shortly.”

It would have been simple enough, to brush up against the man’s surface thoughts and demand from them the knowledge of what Hux had in mind. But he would feel Ren’s probing – and Ren found, oddly enough, he did not even want to. Not yet, at least. And so he moved, leaving the door wide open in his wake, shifting from the cool conditioned air to the smothering thick heat of the atmosphere beyond.

Hux had made his speech in the auditorium below. Sitting at the edge of the city, the building itself seemed to rear up from the precipice where the jungle would have taken over again if not for the sea below the high cliffs. Looking out, ahead, Ren could see only blue ocean, restless in the rhythm of an aching heartbeat. The system’s sun lingered yet upon the horizon, already sinking into the sea.

This high in the complex, no other balconies had open view of Hux’s own. Two reclined chairs lay alone before the edge; Ren took his seat to the left, glanced up in half-interest. Dusk had begun its dark spread at the highest arch of sky, only the brightest stars yet pushing through the encroaching veil of it.

As Hux passed through the open door, he brought with him the faintest coolness of the air within. Yet he did not berate Ren for wastefulness – it was neither his ship nor his precious base, perhaps. Bare feet padded over the hardwood as he moved ever forward; a light click, and Ren heard a faint flare of flame. Glancing up, Ren caught the movement as Hux touched the lighter to the end of a cigarra. And he went very still.

Leaning over the balcony was his coup de grâce, the final movement to steal the last of Ren’s breath completely away. The shirt hitched up over his thighs, revealing the faintest hint of buttock beneath: a smooth white curve, like a crescent moon against the blue-dusk pink of the sky behind.

“Well?” A deeply drawn breath, exhaled on a stream of sweet-scented smoke. “Aren’t you going to enjoy the view?”

Here Hux stood naked, save for that starched shirt; it burned glaringly white against the muted death of another day. With lips curled around the cigarra, he took another breath; Ren did not realise he held his own, until Hux released them both. The sleeves lay undone at the cuff, rolled up and over smooth sinew of his arms; the revealed skin proved lightly dusted with nearly-transparent hair, fading freckles scattered like stardust. An open collar revealed the working of his throat, soft and white, leaving Ren’s fingers twitching in unspoken echoing ache.

His eyes shifted down, again, drawn by the tease of those long lean legs. Swallowing, hard, he glanced up. Hux had not looked his way, face instead cast in profile, seemingly almost: bored. But Ren could sense the curiosity of him. Even with his hips tilted away, Ren could taste arousal upon the air; musky and sharp, it lay moist and thick upon his tongue. Dizzied, he closed his eyes, opened them almost immediately. The first time they had met, he had known even then that the General could not possibly be the Cadet. But still: the shock of it had been like this. It had been a strange joy indeed, to speak directly with someone he had already known too well, if only by imagination.

But his voice had been too sharp, too quick; his eyes had been too knowing, in all the wrong ways. He had been the General, never the Cadet. But it had become something different, here. Hux alone stood before him now, distant still and yet not so far from him at all. Every movement came slow and languid, and the smoke lay almost as a caress upon what little of his own skin had been bared.

With fingers moving under the heavy tunic, Ren shifted it aside. When the trousers fell undone, hips shifted to move them down, just barely beyond his buttocks. His gloves stayed on. Hux’s own hands lay bare and long-fingered, before his gaze – but then, the General and the Cadet both had always been so proper, if only about that. Ren had never seen either naked in this way. Those clever fingers, still wound around the cigarra, drifted back towards his mouth. There Hux took a slow pull, lips taut, cheeks hollowed out, eyes thoughtful and distant.

A slow exhale, and the movement of his own hand followed it down the length of his hardened cock. In answer Hux’s bare feet shifted backward, easy and light as a dancer; as he bent further forward, rising upon his toes, the gesture shifted the shirt against his skin. There, Ren could take a better glimpse, though nothing more than that; the hollow between his thighs was little more than faint invitation, the long lines of his thighs demarcated with the lengthening shadows of continued sunset.

And from between his lips, then, a light hum. No real song, just: vibration, its light melody chasing Ren’s gloved fingers in movement over his own shaft. Shifting his head to take a deeper breath, Hux gave over to a tilt of one hip. There, upon his toes, he began a slow, soft bounce; a strange dance, to the soft music only he knew how to compose.

Ren’s own hand moved to match with a quickening pulse, the sharpening sensation turning almost vicious now. Thumbing over the head, he then pressed up at the skin stretched back and beneath. A pull down, twisting, then up – and then he was _giving_ up. Hux had arched his head, back bowed concave beneath the pressure of it, shirt inching up to reveal half of his small tight backside, and: he _came_ , hard and sudden and not entirely unexpected, his mind a white-out of memory and reality.

Lying there, boneless and silent, Ren allowed himself to linger upon the aftershocks of it. Though it did not quite push over the edge into sleep, it felt something not dissimilar to meditation. There were those who might have called such observation near-sacrilegious. To Kylo Ren’s mind, such individuals would never understand the power of desire, and in the end would know only defeat.

Ren did not recall seeing Hux go to pour himself another drink. It seemed instead that when he blinked, just once, it was to find Hux now with head tilted back, ice pressed against his lips, throat long and shifting in the dim light of perfect dusk. He set the tumbler down upon the broadness of the balustrade, taking up a small silver case. From within he drew another cigarra; in moments, that same rich scent wreathed about him once more. It could but be so much more pleasant than the memories of another life: of dark dank cantinas filled with bitter smoke and bitterer minds, every breath he took like crunching teeth down on hard ground rock.

In that dreamstate Ren felt quite content only to watch him, to allow Hux to take his time. Only when it emptied entirely did Hux set the glass aside, cigarra crushed out by its side. Turning back, he crossed between them, hips swaying, his hair a blazing riot of perfect disorder.

“Now it’s my turn.” The scent of his cigarra curled so sweet about him now, utterly unlike the acrid burn of memory. A smile bloomed, strange and secret, as he swayed closer still – and when he leaned down, his eyes felt to fill the world. “I did always want to know what it would be like,” Hux whispered, “to fuck the golden boy-prince of the Republic.”

Ren heart shuddered to a halt. “What?”

The rasped word had held but the barest sound. And yet Hux chuckled, having heard it as clear as a shout. “Ben Solo.” One hand shifted between them, fingers light upon the thickness of his surcoat, one eyebrow tilted high. “ _He_ was the one jerking off to me in his little Jedi bed, yes?”

He swallowed, hard and with difficulty; while he’d never thought his true identity to be a secret entire, he had not expected even Hux to be reckless enough to speak the words aloud. “I’m not him,” he said, thready and hoarse; Hux gave the faintest of shrugs, his shirt slipping to reveal the full teasing length of one collarbone.

“But he’s in you,” he said, lightly thoughtful. The wicked glint entered his eyes only as the hand slipped down, moving to cradle his balls with something dangerously close to tenderness. “And I can be, too.”

He should be rising. He should be raging. Instead, he only met those strange eyes and said, even and flat, “You’re dreaming if you think I’m going to let you fuck me dry.”

A faint tut, and one hand reached out. Long fingers closed about a slim bottle, before now unseen, and unlabelled. Only a colourless gel lay within. But when Hux tilted his wrist, it caught the dying light, and burned with iridescent flare.

And he looked down, head tilted, knowing and easy as he began to slide Ren’s trousers down and fully away. “A good cadet is always prepared, Master Ren.”

Even had he wanted to, Ren could not have looked away; in great pulsing wave he came over first cold, and then with a heat that only grew by the moment. Still clad in only his half-buttoned shirt, Hux now moved to straddle the recliner. With eyes fixed upon Ren alone, the lid snapped open in time with one long, slow blink. And Ren did not look away from the play of his hands. Shimmering with slickness, the long fingers worked together, shifting like the sun over the distant low pulse of the waves beyond.

He could not help but hiss out a sharpened breath as the first finger slipped in. He had never before been on the receiving end. But he felt no urge to say so, would not have even had he thought it would make the slightest bit of difference to either of them. When he’d imagined this, it had always been the first time. It had always been the Cadet before him, all slim limbs and sly grin, body lean and lethal beneath the shift of flimsy fabric. Every move had been predatory, as it was now – with Ren laid out before him as both his prey, and his pleasure.

But the breach of the head was something altogether too new; the hitching in his throat was not something he could hope to hide. It gave him but the slightest leeway, Hux pausing rather than withdrawing. And in turn Ren could do little more but breathe in, steadying himself upon the burst of oxygen, rich in this humid atmosphere. And then he breathed out as Hux slid in, slid _home_.

There, at last, Hux stopped fully, hands now braced either side of his head. Even beneath his slight weight, his arms grew taut with sinew and unexpected strength. When he shifted in turn to forearms, it brought them both so very close; though his lips curved, and their breaths mingled, Hux permitted him no kiss. Instead, with their eyes locked, Hux at last began to _move_.

Beneath him, Ren shuddered, already shifting around an awkward feeling of _fullness_ ; a strange urgency curled uncomfortable and low in his gut. But: another shift, and then a striking _heat_ ; it shimmered along his spine and punched a gasp from his heaving chest. Hux paused, amusement shining in his bright eyes – and he did it again, too quick. With toes curling, hands clenching, Ren let out a wail; Hux’s laughter was breathed rather than heard, a light stormwind over his burning skin.

In that moment Ren found it almost too easy – to rear up, to catch him about his arms, to twist them both to his own desire. It left Hux on his back, his face folding in faint disgust as he observed this new configuration. But there was interest there, too. Certainly he did not rise, did not move away even as Ren himself drew back, already mourning the loss of Hux from within his own body.

But then, it gave Hux a view, Ren supposed. Before him, at his feet, Ren stripped himself bare, and stood for a long moment to let Hux drink his fill. Even as some other part of him wished for nothing more than to turn away, to cover himself, he could not deny the black-blown pupils of Hux’s strange eyes, the clear desire that shifted behind them as they roamed over his body in ravenous hunt.

The moment it became too much, Ren lurched forward, straddling him, hunching over Hux’s prone form until his own body all but enveloped the one below. Even as Hux rolled his hips upward in clear demand, Ren pushed back, feeling the length of a hard cock sliding along the slick crease of his ass. With thigh muscles turned hard and bunched, Ren rose up; a hand moved behind, between his own legs, guiding him until the head caught between the cheeks, tip just caught on the burning ache of the rim. Even as he released it again, he’d already slid down. With eyes fixed upon Hux, he watched the play of sensation upon that face until his ass lay in the cradle of the general’s own splayed thighs.

In the stillness that followed, neither said a word. Ren reached forward. Then, his only movement became the tremble of fingers over the neat little buttons marching down the starched edges of his shirt. But his hands were steady when they parted it at last, shifting flat over the slim chest. He paused only when he felt the heartbeat beneath his palm. It would be but the work of a moment’s thought to stop it dead. Ren drew a deeper breath, felt the shift of the cock deep in his ass, pulsing and alive. Then, and only then, did he begin to move: up and down, riding the relentless tide of arousal.

It should have been impossible. But still his own cock had stirred again to full interest, poking hard up against his own belly. How Hux could cling so tightly to his own release so long, Ren did not know. Even when he looked down, those watchful eyes were not quite mocking, but – the _amusement_ , there. It burned like the sun already long since trapped in its final descent.

Again, Ren came too sudden, and too quick; his back arched, every muscle alight, every nerve like inferno. But he did not close his eyes. Trapped instead by Hux’s brilliant eyes, he could only stare as his body shuddered and shivered its way through, mouth half-opened on something that might have been a snarl. As the claws withdrew, his body gone limp, his chin shifted down – and there he gazed over the lines of Hux’s body, the thick whiteness of fresh release painted strange over the canvas of that smooth pale skin.

“Has it been such a terribly long time for you, then?” His head shot up, and Hux’s body shimmered with laughter beneath him, knowing and languid. “Oh, don’t worry, Ren. I can still fuck you until I find my own satisfaction for myself.”

But even as every muscle protested, Ren rose, withdrew. Beneath him, dick still so very hard and now pressed up against the flatness of his stomach, Hux pursed his lips in clear disapproval; he clearly intended to move, but unseen hands pressed him back into the recliner. Ignoring the flare of fury, Ren, his own body slick with sweat, hair hanging in his eyes, shifted off, kneeling at the side. Hux quirked an eyebrow – but it was almost too easy, to reach between them. There his middle finger pressed between the tight little cheeks, and Hux drew a sudden hitching breath.

“Ren—”

“You’re always about _control_ ,” he said, and it was very nearly gentle. “But it was the cadet I wanted.” His hand shifted, middle fingertip pressed hard against the furl of muscle there. “Not the general.”

With a flash of eyes, his mouth turned down in a grimace – but Ren’s other hand shot out, the lubricant bottle slapping hard into his palm. With one squeeze, the entire lid burst off, the slick inside oozing over his clenched fist; for all the mess, he hardly cared. It gave him all that he needed, and that was his long blunt fingers now slick and sliding over and between taut skin, callused tips teasing at the entrance.

In another life, there might have been time. Ren had no sense of it now. All he wanted was to push _in_ , middle finger crooked and firm. In return Hux arched his slender back, as if in denial of Ren’s desire. All it did was slide him deeper, pull him further down. It was all too easy to slide in another finger, and another; with three, now, Ren hitched up, curled them in search of something deeper.

Arousal poured from him in waves, dizzying and harsh, beating at the edges of his own mind like stormfront against the shore. A twist of his wrist, and pressure, and _pleasure_ : Hux’s voice rose in hoarsening scream, hung upon the humid air, choking and brilliant.

Ren did not stop. Beneath him, Hux shifted, restless and rising, eyes clenched tightly closed. “Ren.” It came out as a plea, as much as he tried to twist it to sound like denial. “Ren, what are you _doing_.”

And he snorted, his own abdomen a thick coil of _want_ even as his dick hung loose and limp between straining thighs. “You wanted to fuck Ben Solo, yes?” he asked, and drew back, drew down. “Well, maybe you forgot something.” His lips shifted in frank grin, and he met Hux’s sudden alarmed gaze with even victory. “He’s your biggest fan,” he whispered, “and you promised him _everything he ever wanted_.”

There he bent his head, and pressed a kiss to the head of his fat, leaking cock. A keening cry, and Hux closed his eyes, again, hips juddering upward in three sharp thrusts. Ren closed his own in turn, felt the warmth of him spatter against cheek, forehead, chin. When he opened them again, it was only to encounter the blue-green storm system of Hux’s own. A slow shift of his tongue, and: the taste of _him_ burst there, salty and strange. With a groan, Hux clenched his eyes shut once more; his cock twitched, leaked again, whiteness pooling in the red hair cut so neat and close about its base.

And already Ren leaned forward, slaved still to the animalistic desire to _taste_ ; his tongue moved over the rasp of coarse hair, and there he stopped, struck with the need now to simply breathe him _in_.

As he rested, there, the quickfire respiration above him calmed. First slowing, it then turned soft, now barely audible. But with his cheek resting in the sharp curve of hipbone and thigh, Ren could watch the rise and fall of the abdomen above. And if he tilted his head, just a little, he could see that darkness had moved now entire over the sky above.

But even as the night air prickled over his skin, it brought no coolness, no relief from the relentless heat of this strange world. And a hand shifted down, fingers light over the sweat-shine tangle of his thick hair. There they tightened, and _pulled_. Glancing up, his body in low soft curl over the foot of the recliner, Ren gazed over the long white plains of his body to meet those darkened eyes.

“Ren,” Hux said, and then: nothing else. The strangeness of it might have made Ren chuckle, had he not been so languid and lost in his pleasure. In all his fantasies, he had always thought he would be the one taken in, the one taken over by this creature – one first known only through holos, and then by the intense emotion they had wrung from him over and over again.

“Ren,” he said, again, and closed his eyes. “I’m going to be dreadfully late to dinner.”

A snort, and even as every joint protested the movement, Ren found first his knees, and then his feet. But he did not rise. Instead he shifted his body, laid it down again, half-sprawled over the sharp lines of the general beneath. And yet the man complained not once about the weight of him there.

Their lips met, but paused a moment; Ren caught his gaze, did not let go. “Haven’t you already had your fill yet, General?” he whispered, and closed his eyes against the throaty chuckle that followed. Hux tasted nothing if not real. Immediate. _Here_.

And when they parted, Ren retreated nothing more than a hairsbreadth away; the fingers still anchored in the hair at the nape of his neck would have permitted nothing else. “Oh, well, then,” Hux said, airy, light, as if it mattered not at all, even as his fingers twisted garrotte-tight. “Perhaps I could stand a little more of this, then.”

This was not the Cadet. And he himself was not Ben Solo. But as Hux’s leg rose, hooking about his waist to grind their groins together, over-sensitive skin singing to shrieking – well. Kylo Ren supposed that the general and the knight just might find something enough in only one another, after all.


End file.
